


A haunting, hunted kind; the left behind

by Suaine



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 12:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suaine/pseuds/Suaine
Summary: Gilmore just wanted a muffin from the Slayer's Bake, but his day was going to be much more interesting.





	A haunting, hunted kind; the left behind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Settiai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Settiai/gifts).



> This is a quick-as-I-could-make-it NYR story for a fandom I have fallen in love with and an old friend who might not remember me. To new beginnings!

The delivery of his daily bag of muffins from the Slayers' Bake hadn't arrived yet, when a bolt of magic hit Gilmore square in the chest, turning his morning from dead boring to worse. Exciting, certainly, but worse.

 

He looked up to face whatever had attacked him only to find the shop around him entirely empty of intruders. It was filled to the brim with magical items and potions, but none of them appeared to be disturbed in a way that would explain the ache spreading in his chest. The exposed flesh under his fingers felt unbroken and ice cold, hard like an alabaster statue. He would incidentally make a very handsome statue, though certainly not yet. Not like this.

 

“Show yourself,” he yelled. Under his breath he wove a spell to shield himself from other attacks. Picking himself up off the floor, he reached for a vial of truesight and downed it in two huge gulps. He glanced around, careful to check every nook and cranny, but there was nothing. Whatever had taken a bite out of him was gone again, as quick as it had appeared.

 

He looked down to check his injuries only to find his chest perfectly whole and unscathed. He poked his sternum with his fingers and found nothing out of the ordinary, the skin felt like skin, if a little clammy.

 

“Well, if that wasn't a wake-up call, I don't know what is.” He made his way to the front of the shop where Sherri looked at him with a question perched on her lips. He shook his head to shush her and walked toward the door. Looking outside, he still found nothing except the mid-morning bustle of a work day, not that he knew exactly what he was looking for. Whatever had hit him, it had left no lasting damage, as painful as it had appeared to be.

 

Closing the door gingerly behind him and locking it with a quick wave of his fingers, he put on his best fake smile. “Sherri, darling, how many necromancers do we know on this continent?”

 

Sherri gave him a startled look. “Aside from the ones Vox Machina kindly severed from their existence on this plane? I sincerely hope none at all.” She sighed. “Did something happen, Gilmore?”

 

“I'm not sure, and that worries me greatly.” A pause, the tension so thick it felt like a third person in the room, then-

 

Noise tore the silence: A loud, insistent triplet of knocks on the door, somehow able to convey an obnoxious, impatient nature in the span of a moment.

 

“Hey, you in there! I saw you! This shop was open a minute ago. I wish to purchase many expensive things.”

 

Gilmore closed his eyes and sighed. It was to be one of those mornings. He glanced back at Sherri, who made no move toward the door, choosing to leave him with an irritating customer. Perhaps he deserved that. He opened the door with a flourish.

 

“Welcome to Gilmore's Glorious Goods, how can we help you today?”

 

Outside the shop stood a young man who would be fairly plain if it weren't for his long, flowing blond hair, and a single bright jewel around his neck. Gilmore had seen him before, when he had been decked out far more richly, in armor that had more flash than purpose. Gilmore was not one to judge another for his own sins, and vanity surely belonged to them, but if he were to be asked, he would say that Taryon Darrington was served well by his more humble appearance. It made his eyes stand out.

 

“I, uh," Darrington seemed to be at a loss when faced with someone taking him seriously. Gilmore had heard a few things, among them that Darrington was usually a little on the frivolous side. People had said that about Gilmore often enough that he felt it prudent not to give too much weight to rumors.

 

He took Darrington's hand in both of his, dialing up the charm. "I promise we have whatever it is you're looking for and if we don't, I'm sure I can get it for you."

 

Darrington pulled his hand away but stepped into the shop. Gilmore smiled at the hint of a blush he could see on the top of the man's ears. He hadn't lost his touch, that at least was a certainty. Darrington turned around. There was something haunted in his eyes. "Listen, I know you've helped out some mutual friends before. Vox Machina? This kind of involves them so I think you might be interested. I don't have a whole lot of gold to spare, but I can offer other things – I'm a passable artificer and can probably work on a few enchantments for you.”

 

Gilmore narrowed his eyes at the mention of his friends. Where Vox Machina went, trouble almost always followed, but he could never stop himself from being there anyway. For a while Darrington had traveled with them, though in some ways he'd never quite belonged, a friend for sure and yet always apart – much like Gilmore himself. Neither of them belonged to the tight circle of family that bound Vox Machina together.

 

“Ah, yes,” Gilmore said. “Vox Machina. When it comes to them, I always have an open ear.” He smiled at Darrington and led him out of earshot from Sherri, who always got too interested in Gilmore's ill-fated attraction to Vax'ildan. “Tell me, what are our friends up to at the moment? Should I be worried?”

 

Darrington looked back at the door as if he expected to see someone. “I haven't heard from Vex'halia in weeks, though that's not unusual. No, I... I don't know how to explain it.” Darrington started rummaging under his cloak and pulled out a small dragonite the size of his lower arm. “I think I'm being haunted.”

 

The dragonite uttered a mournful cry just before a flash of light hit Darrington in the shoulder. It was the same energy that had hit Gilmore earlier, an excruciating but harmless act of magic. A warning. Or maybe a cry for help.

 

Gilmore winced in sympathy at the grimace on Darrington's face. The man was taking it with far more grace than Gilmore had expected. “That kind of thing has been happening to you a lot, I gather.”

 

Darrington swallowed hard. “I guess you could say that. Ever since this little monster showed up on my doorstep.” He carefully petted the dragonite's head. There was affection in his gentle caress, and Gilmore began to understand why Vox Machina had kept him around. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

 

+

 

Taryon had lived a privileged life before it all came apart at the seams, but those kind of riches lingered, even if the actual coin was lost. He walked through the world not with a feeling that he owned it, but certainly the sense that he could. It was only the resentment of his family that had thrown him for a loop. He was working on that. He was working on turning himself into a better man, the kind of man that was worthy of love.

 

However, before he could continue on that quest, he needed to get rid of his ghost. His actual literal ghost, mind you. He was being haunted.

 

“I'm being haunted,” he explained to Gilmore, who was distractingly swishy and glamorous. There were stray hairs escaping his braided goatee and Taryon fought the urge to pull at them. “I thought about asking Pike, you know, but she's always so busy and it seems like a small problem compared to what they're always dealing with.”

 

Stumpy, the dragonite, snapped at his finger and Taryon tapped his nose. The little monster sighed and curled itself along his arm and shoulder. The weight had become familiar.

 

Gilmore nodded, his fingers tapping surprisingly luscious lips. It was damn distracting. “Ghosts are highly unusual, especially since the Raven Queen's resurgence. They're not like the undead who are forced to stay in this world but neither are they like vampires or those who have become immortal through unnatural means. Ghosts are souls whose purpose or desire to stay in the material realm is too strong to allow them to pass over. The Raven Queen has no power over them, although she likely wouldn't wish to interfere anyway.”

 

Taryon sighed. “I guess it would be too easy if I could just ask Vax'ildan to banish it.”

 

Gilmore smiled, all teeth. “I think you already knew that, or you wouldn't be here.”

 

“I can read,” Taryon said. “And I've had some time on my hands lately.” Ever since the Darrington Brigade had given him to understand that their work could be accomplished far more easily if he was a silent partner. Silent and far away.

 

“Right, but what exactly do you think I can do for you? We don't exactly sell ghost-be-gone potions. This seems like a problem for an adventuring party, not a shopkeeper.”

 

Shaun Gilmore was many things, but a simple shopkeeper was not one of them. Taryon laughed. Here they were, two people who had never met a boast they wouldn't make and somehow trying to out-humble the other. It was ridiculous. “You might not be an adventurer, but you're incredibly smart, capable and powerful. And don't you dare deny it, humility doesn't suit you.”

 

Gilmore grinned. “I wouldn't dare. Tell me about your ghost.”

 

Taryon reached up to stroke Stumpy's back. “I think this boy here belongs to the not-quite departed. He showed up in my study a few weeks ago and ever since then I can't get any work done. The ghost is quite insistent.”

 

Gilmore sighed and reached out to take Stumpy off Taryon's shoulder. He radiated warmth and a lovely scent that made Taryon a little dizzy. “He does look a little familiar. Hey, little one, have I met you before?”

 

Stumpy made a satisfied purring sound, like a tiger relaxing in the sun after a good meal. Taryon couldn't help but be a little jealous of the ease with which Gilmore handled the small creature. It seemed to be the story of his life that he was always somehow second choice. As much as he loved Vex and Percy, and all of Vox Machina, they didn't love him nearly as much.

 

Gilmore whispered a few words to the dragonite and it seemed to Taryon that the creature understood, even reacted with its little head nodding along to the words. The two of them looked oddly fitting, like a wizard and his familiar, which was perhaps not so far from the truth. Many creatures would react with grief to the death of their masters, but familiars were special. They couldn't help but act if there was something to act on, if their masters were still in need.

 

“Ah well, I suppose I should have expected something like this.” Gilmore turned his gaze on Taryon and the spark in his eyes took Taryon's breath away. “Have you ever heard of a Dragonborn names Tiberius? He used to be part of Vox Machina, I believe he died just before you met them. He was part of the ruling class of Draconia.”

 

+

 

The ghost left them alone as they talked; it seemed that they were on the right track. Tiberius had been an interesting man, if a little off-putting in his attitude. Certainly a man who knew that he was powerful and intelligent. Gilmore had always liked him, even at his most irritating, because he knew how to spend his coin liberally and always found new and creative ways to solve his problems. Expensive and creative, two things that Gilmore enjoyed very much.

 

In a way, the same thing applied to Taryon Darrington, although he no longer had the coin to back up the appearance. He was easy on the eyes, too, with beautiful hair he could rightly be proud of. He looked the part of an aristocrat with his fine-boned face and pale skin. Gilmore's type usually ran a little darker, if no less graceful, but there was something about Darrington that made Gilmore pause. Consider.

 

“I think we need to go to Draconia,” Darrington said. “That's where they left him, after the dragon attacks. I don't think they ever went back.”

 

Gilmore nodded. That, too, was one of the things hat connected all three of them – beloved by Vox Machina, but not enough. Never quite enough. “I can take us there.”

 

He remembered some tale he had heard, if not from Vax'ildan himself then certainly someone close, about the white dragon they had killed and the Dragonborn slaves they had freed. They perhaps should have scryed ahead, but some sense of adventure and risk had taken a hold of him, and there was the excitement in Darrington's eyes. They both needed something like this, a small quest all their own.

 

At their destination, the dragonite seemed to recognize familiar terrain and visibly deflated, tucking its body close to the ground, tail between its legs. Leading them across a field of ice, the little creature seemed to know exactly where to go. It was far too beautiful a day for their grim task, the sun climbing ever higher in the sky, temperatures above what Gilmore had expected. But then the white dragon had been gone for quite some time. Nature prevailed.

 

“I have to admit,” Darrington said, “I didn't think we'd be going anywhere outside your shop. This is... nice.”

 

Gilmore smiled to himself. “I'm sure as soon as we're ambushed by wild animals or terrible monsters you will think about it differently. Or maybe not, I hear you were quite adamant about choosing the adventurer lifestyle.”

 

Darrington looked up at the sky as if his answers were all written in the soft powder clouds. “I was running away and I got very, very lucky. I would have liked to be a hero, but I don't think that was ever my destiny. Maybe I was always nothing more than a problem to solve.”

 

Shaking his head, Gilmore fought the urge to grasp the man's shoulder. What could he say? “My dear, I don't think you give yourself enough credit. For the time that you were with them, you were theirs as much as they were yours.” He didn't say that at least Darrington had had that much, for that long. Gilmore wasn't exactly prone to jealousy, but it had always been a small ache in his heart.

 

The sky darkened with clouds the further they walked and their conversation turned to memories of their adventuring friends. Gilmore talked about Allura and Kima in their early years, when they were all much younger and a lot less careful – not that Kima had learned a whole lot of restraint, not even now that she had someone else who was intimately interested in her well-being. He told Darrington about Scanlan Shorthalt, with both of them keenly aware that Darrington had always been the replacement friend, how the gnome had been at once the prankster and the oldest of the group, someone who had seen a little too much of the world.

 

Darrington shared stories of the year he spent with Vex'halia and Percival, a year that was not always peaceful but certainly a change of pace for the group. That year had been kind to all of them, including Gilmore, who'd begun plans for the recovery of his business. Being a hero to the people of Tal'dorei had its perks but it didn't pay particularly well.

 

As they were led into a cave, a stray bolt of sunlight hit Darrington in just the right way to make him look almost ethereal. Gilmore couldn't help but smile. He reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind the man's ear. “You're no one's replacement. You know that, don't you?”

 

Darrington flinched and close his fingers around Gilmore's hand. “Don't do that. Don't play your games with me, please.”

 

The air in the cave was stuffy and a little damp. “Darling, I never play.” Darrington wasn't meeting his eyes. He thought about saying something honest and vulnerable when a bolt of icy arcane power hit him straight in the back.

 

+

 

If Taryon thought Gilmore's flirts were creative, he had no words for his curses. Apparently, Tiberius was as insufferable in death as he had been in life, if some of the stories were to be believed, and did not enjoy the subject of his haunting to dilly-dally on their quest. Taryon could appreciate that even if he was a little disappointed. It had been a long time since someone had looked at him like Gilmore did just before he curled up in pain on the ground.

 

“This is... not an experience I wanted to repeat.” Gilmore's voice sounded wheezy and thin, pressed out between heavy breaths. The pain was like a ball of ice and fire exploding under the skin, so intense that it had on occasion knocked Taryon unconscious. Taryon grabbed Gilmore's arm and pulled the man up, steadying him with the other hand on his shoulder.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Gilmore grimaced. “I've been worse.”

 

Taryon fought the urge to do something that would get him hit with a frost bolt. “We should keep going.” He didn't let go, not until Gilmore closed his eyes and nodded.

 

“Yes, we should. There's work to be done.”

 

They followed the dragonite further into the cave, lighting some magical flares as the way turned ever darker. The cave smelled like rot, natural but still fairly disgusting. They couldn't sense any evil ahead of them.

 

The cave opened up into a spacious cavern, stalactites and stalagmites dotting the area, moss and fungi growing all over. A soft bio-luminescent glow allowed them to see shapes and movement. They extinguished their magical lights and crept forward, though neither of them was particularly adept at stealth.

 

At the center of the cavern an enormous wolf lay sleeping, surrounded by bones and trinkets.

 

Before Taryon could say something, Gilmore shushed him with a finger on his lips. He gestured to the creature and then to their little dragonite friend, who was cowering in mortal terror. Taryon nodded. Whatever they were supposed to find, it was somewhere in that area. And the wolf would likely not give it to them without some kind of fight.

 

He grinned, pulling every ounce of magic he commanded to the surface. Arcane fire lit Gilmore's eyes.

 

+

 

There was no evil inside the cave. It smelled of damp and rotten things, of things forgotten and left behind. The wolf was a wolf and it was the world. It lived and it slept and it ate and it hungered for a future that might never come.

 

The wolf opened its eyes to two small things coming at it with fire and fury. Surrounded by bones, by the weapons of long forgotten warriors, by dust and memory, the wolf awoke and reared up to howl. It snapped at the insignificant things and threw them into the dirt.

 

Behind them, a small growl, a tiny, tiny creature threw itself at him with an anger that could overcome every last natural fear, an anger born from love and devotion.

 

The wolf, both claws like cages around the small intruders, decided that it was not hungry for flesh today.

 

+

 

It was perhaps just their luck that they would come across a forest god on the way to a ghost. It was the kind of luck that came with being close to Vox Machina. The same luck had them on their backs, everything exposed, death licking at their heels. The same luck let the wolf hold still and speak.

 

“What do you seek, mortals?”

 

Gilmore tried to breathe through the pain. In his life, he'd gotten used to this particular exercise. “We came to see a dead man.”

 

The wolf huffed. “I can make you see all the dead men in the world.”

 

Taryon piped up. “We'd rather just see the one.”

 

Gilmore couldn't help but feel affection for the artificer with a death wish. “We are looking for a ghost. His little friend led us to you.”

 

“Ah,” the wolf said, the rumble of a mountain crumbling to dust. “The little one has courage. If he could, he would come at me with his teeth and claws.”

 

Gilmore had heard of these immortals, creatures not unlike gods but living in the mortal realm, lords of the mountains and forests and plains of the world. They were capricious and wild, powerful and vengeful, but they could be kind if the moment was right. They could change the path of history if they so desired.

 

Their desires, however, were often opaque and hard to pin down. “Is there something we can offer you in exchange for your help?” Gilmore hoped that the price wasn't too steep. Bargains like these were never a bargain.

 

“You will see,” the wolf said, and everything went white.

 

+

 

Death was a constant companion to adventurers and Taryon had learned that lesson well. It had taken him a while, but he had learned it. If he thought about it, death would look like this: bright light and warmth, and a terrible, gnawing emptiness. He had no place in heroes' pantheons, all he got was a bleak, unending existence beyond life. Neither heaven nor hell, nor any of the planes that promised deliverance.

 

“This is not what I thought would happen today,” Gilmore said as he brushed invisible lint from his robe.

 

Taryon laughed and reached out to straighten Gilmore's collar. “This is a good color on you.” Their surroundings somehow lent themselves to telling truths.

 

“I know.”

 

“You know, I- I always thought that it was, you know, a little- a little on the pompous side.” The voice belonged to a red dragonborn, long tail tucked behind him, glasses slightly askew. He looked at Taryon. “May I introduce myself – I'm Tiberius Stormwind. From Draconia.”

 

Taryon bowed. “My name is Taryon Darrington. It's lovely to make your acquaintance.” And it would have been, Taryon could tell. They certainly would have clashed, but he could already feel a bond between them.

 

“I'm sorry to bring you here under duress, but I couldn't think of a better way to achieve my goal.” He didn't sound very sorry at all.

 

Gilmore laughed. “You were always the creative one. Never a dull moment with you.”

 

Tiberius crossed his arms. Then he opened them again, like he had thought better of it. Perhaps a stand-off wasn't in is plan today. “I want you to meet someone.” He crouched down and the dragonite that had led them to the cave crawled down his arms and onto the ground, reluctant but obedient. “This is Lockheed. He needs someone to take care of him now. Obviously I'm no longer qualified.”

 

Taryon knelt in front of the small creature. “Lockheed does sound more fitting than Stumpy, I admit.” He curled his fingers behind the creatures head and scratched lightly. “You're a good boy.”

 

Gilmore put a hand on Taryon's shoulder. “We're going to do our very best. Nothing but the most exquisite treats.”

 

+

 

Tiberius nodded and within a moment they had returned not to the cave but Gilmore's workshop. “It seems we've adopted a dragonite.” He felt his heart constrict. Despite the physical pain he'd had _fun_ today. He didn't want to give it up. “Or should I say _you_ , given how the little rascal seems to cling to you.” He was ready to give it all up. He wasn't one to beg or pursue.

 

Taryon swallowed. “I, uh, I don't think I'm cut out to be a single father. I could use some help. Share custody.” A blush spread across his skin, right up to his golden blond hair.

 

Gilmore smiled. “Alright, my dear, I think we can arrange something. Wouldn't want Lockheed to grow up without his two dads, now would we?”

 

Taryon's answering smile could light up the world.

 


End file.
